


Battery City

by DaisukiRose



Category: My Chemical Romance, frerard - Fandom
Genre: AU-Battery City, AU-Danger Days, FRANK ALMOST SHOOTS SOMEONE, Frankie has a hair kink, Frerard, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Titles, M/M, MCR-Freeform, Mob boss!Frankie, New Kid!Gerard, Other, Pete has blue hair, Thinking maybe submissive Frank..., almost, but hair, especially dyed hair, just like Frank is bad at feelings, or Gerard's hair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-13
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-26 06:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4994452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisukiRose/pseuds/DaisukiRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was 10 PM at night, and the streets were finally mine. In Battery City, you knew better than to go out late at night, lest you face… me. Or my boys. We were kind of the top law; even the police were afraid of us. The fucking pigs. But anyways, Pete Wentz, my right hand man, had just informed me of a new family that had moved into Battery the day before, and they had a couple kids. One’s 17, a high school dropout like the rest of this miserable population, and hopefully he’s stupid enough to go outside. I hadn’t had myself any excitement in weeks. The second was 14. I didn’t usually go for them that young. But, who knows? I was bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Hunt

It was 10 PM at night, and the streets were finally mine. In Battery City, you knew better than to go out late at night, lest you face… me. Or my boys. We were kind of the top law; even the police were afraid of us. The fucking pigs. But anyways, Pete Wentz, my right hand man, had just informed me of a new family that had moved into Battery the day before, and they had a couple kids. One’s 17, a high school dropout like the rest of this miserable population, and hopefully he’s stupid enough to go outside. I hadn’t had myself any excitement in weeks. The second was 14. I didn’t usually go for them that young. But, who knows? I was bored.

The family’s name was Way. That’s all we really knew, besides that they lived in the ritzy hood on the north side. We usually didn’t go up there, but this would be a special occasion. My boys stood in front of me, little smiles flickering on their faces as I climbed onto a gas barrel to be taller than them. That’s right, I’m short. A midget, even, at 4’9”, you wouldn’t think I’m too scary. But you would be wrong, now wouldn’t you? 

Anyways, I turned to the boys with a smirk on my face. “Alright, we’ve got some fresh meat we’re after tonight!” I yelled, and they cheered. “Keep your boots tight, your guns close, and your coms in, and tell me if you capture this boy they call Way. I’d like to speak with him.” I grinned as they cheered, before raising one hand to cast the room into quiet. “Alright, we’ll be surrounding the Ritz tonight. I’ll be calling you out, and telling you your stations. Wentz, I want you at the corner of 15th and Cobra, okay? That corner of the Ritz is usually quiet. We don’t want any Ways out, now do we?” I winked as they cheered and the 15 year old Wentz practically gleamed at the idea of some fun. “Toro? Ray Toro? The fuck, Ray, stop playing with the guard dogs!” I screamed, and Ray looked up at me, his afro an apologetic smile like a halo. “You’ll be at 15th and Vamp.” He nodded, and I moved on. “Bryar?” I asked, and a tall, stout blonde kid stood up. Bob was maybe a year younger than me, but had been with us forever. “You’ll be at 20th and Cobra, and I want Joey Trohman at 20th and Vamp. The rest of you, spread out and help me find that Way punk. Tonight, we hunt for ME.”

Everyone cheered once again before I hopped off the barrel and made a path through them, going to stand by a piece of a shattered mirror, picking up an eyeliner pencil in my hand. I ceremoniously crossed a big X over both of my eyes before marking the back of each of my boys’ necks with a little x, and then releasing them out into the night with a wild yell. I ran out of our building and down the dark and familiar alleyways with a wild zeal, a relish of the chase I hadn’t felt in a long time. We, the top law of Battery City, were out in force once again. We, the Killjoys, rode tonight for fresh blood. 

I stalked the streets, weaving in and out of my boys in an attempt to be everywhere at once, to see everything, to pinpoint the Way boy’s moves, if he was out tonight. I pressed the button on my com, calling out to everyone. “In position?” I asked, and received a resounding yes from all of us. “Alright. His family’s got the big bucks, so I’m betting they live on either Gold or Chassis. Keep watch for any new looking houses. I want the boy they call Way, and I want him tonight, is that clear? I’ll be in and out of all of you. Every block will be visited by us tonight. I have a few of you going through them all like a sting, okay? I’m at 18th and Jet right now. Let’s hunt, boys.”

A manic howl went up all over the Ritz as I let out my final sentence over Com, and I joined in with the boys in our primal screams. Blood pulsing in my ears, I stalked up and down the streets, hiding in shadows and watching for any trace of the Way boy. I hadn’t seen anyone but my own boys until halfway down Chassis, when I heard a sharp scream and a slamming door. Not any of the Way boys, that was for sure. That was Old Lady Hathaway, whose husband had died last year and whose grandson was all too familiar with us. I’m afraid that Charlie boy moved away, the poor fuckhead. But she wasn’t what I was after. 

I continued down the block, watching in glee as porch lights and inside lights and car lights all went off as we passed. The screams of my boys died down in about a minute, and we were left in complete silence, except for the buzz of the streetlamps and the occasional motor of a car outsize of our 25 block damage zone. Hunting for one person in a five block by five block area might sound hard, but it’s rather easy to root them out eventually, and so we would. I turned onto 17th and Gold, where I spotted a dark shape walking freely down the middle of the road, hands in his pockets, wisps of red hair blowing around his hidden face. None of my boys had red hair; that was for sure. Well, at least, not THAT red. His hair was like… fire or something. Red and long and kind of windswept. And that made me want him more. “Found ‘im, boys. On the block of 17th and Gold. Let me capture him, just fence us in.” I whispered huskily into the coms before cutting my feed and running silently up behind him, following him in the shadows. 

He kept walking blithely down the block to 17th and Chassis, where he looked around for a minute, not seeing me or my boys in the shadows. I could see Wentz’s outline in the shadows, merely feet from the Way boy, and Patty Stump was on the other side. Way didn’t realize he was trapped, but we had caught him. I walked up behind him, a little smirk playing on my face. “Well, well, well. Who do we have here?” I drawled lazily, one hand in my pocket, the other sweeping through my hair so I could get a closer look at his face. 

Panic flashed over his hazel eyes, and he didn’t say anything, looking around and almost laughing when seeing that it was just us. “You think you can hurt me?” He asked scathingly, his own lip turning up into a snarl that matched mine. His thick New Jersey accent cut through his words like a knife, giving them a rougher, tougher air. “Just you?”

I’d give the kid ten points for spirit. “Of course not!” I said, reaching my hand to my hidden com and pressing the Morse code button once, signaling my boys to step out. “But we can. You should know better not to be out at this time of night.”

That panic returned to his face as he pushed back his hood. Dock five points. “Look, mister, I don’t know what you want, but I… I can pay you! My family…”

I scoffed. “You think I want MONEY?” I asked, shaking my head as I walked towards him. He backed up for every step I took, and he soon ran into the wall of a building, with Trohman and Toro on either side of him. They grabbed his wrists as I came forward. “I don’t want your money, pretty boy.” I said, reaching up to grab his hair and pull his face to look me in the eye. “If I wanted your money, I would have targeted your lovely mother. Or maybe your brother. Young ones are always good for ransom. No, I wanted you, and now I have you. Tell me, pretty boy, what’s your name?”

“G… Gerard.” He whispered, his eyes screwed shut, my face inches from his. It was hard to control myself this way, to let myself be so close to him, but I was succeeding so far. “My name’s Gerard.”

“Alright, pretty boy, a name for a name. The name’s Iero. Frank Iero.” I don’t know why I told him my real name, but I did, and the moment I said it, I wanted to kick myself. You never tell your prey your name! I let go of his jaw, running a finger down the side of his face with a sick smile on mine before turning towards the crowd. “Boys, take him to the house.” 

Stump and Bryar grabbed his feet, carrying him, kicking and screaming, back to our warehouse. I led the group the entire way, a manic smile plastered on my face, my boys following behind me with Gerard hoisted onto their shoulders and held down with tight hands. Somewhere at the edge of the Ritz, he stopped struggling and lay in defeat on the shoulders of Toro, Trohman, Stump, and Wentz. His bright red hair was plastered to his face with sweat, his hazel eyes bored into the back of my head, somehow conveying a pleading without me even looking at him. I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out a pennant, the American flag with a spider drawn over it in black sharpie, and ran ahead of the rest of my boys with a whoop, flying our colors behind us as we ran through the streets and into our warehouse. “Where should we put him, Boss?” Wentz asked, his eyes gleaming with the chase, his eyeliner making him appear 10 times fiercer than the kid really was.

“Right here.” I motioned to a ramshackle cot in the corner, pushed up against a bunch of old pallets, and they practically threw him down, coming to stand, grinning, behind me. “Good job, boys.”

Gerard almost whimpered as his shoulder slammed into a corner of the pallets, and he scooted back until his back hit against them. He had nowhere to go, he realized he was trapped. “Please… don’t hurt me.” He said, cowering into the pallets, taking short, raspy breaths. “I’ll do whatever you want!”

“Will you now?” I laughed, coming to stand in front of him. He flinched as I reached out to grab him by the jaw, turning his face to mine. “Whatever I want is a broad category, pretty boy. Are you sure? Do you promise?” His eyes widened as he nodded, probably seeing all the ways this could go bad. “Okay then, pretty boy, you have to do ANYTHING I want, as per your own words. You don’t break promises, do you?” He shook his head, my hand still holding onto his lower jaw. “Good.” I turned to my boys. “Tie him to the post and make sure he can’t escape. I’m tired; I’ll speak to him in the morning. Don’t so much as touch him while I’m gone.”

Ray Toro came up with rope in hand, tying one end around one ankle, the other end to a post in the middle of the floor. He deftly tied Gerard’s hands together in front of him, smiling in what was almost a kind way at him as he stood up. Kind, but in this situation, sadistic. That’s why I liked Ray; he was sweet, innocent, and completely bonkers. It was kind of hot. I could hear Gerard whimper as I retreated to my cot in the corner and motioned for my boys to go home, all but two. I wanted Pete and Bob to stay here tonight, as a sort of guard. When we capture boys from the Ritz, sometimes their family tries to pull a superhero complex and rescue them, and we couldn’t have that, now could we? Anyways, they paced outside with their coms in and hooked to each other’s frequency, and I lay down across the house on my cot, my threadbare blankets pulled up around my chin. 

I had only bothered to take off my boots, because blankets were getting scarce and I valued warmth. I even slept in my jacket. After about 15 minutes of sitting there in relative silence, I heard a whimper from where we had tied Gerard, a single sound of desperation that made my entire being snap to attention and listen. He rolled over on his cot, the rope pulling at his hands, and made a tiny noise in the back of his throat as he hugged his knees to his chest in an attempt to stay warm. I sighed as I watched him. Of course he was cold, he’s a Ritz boy, what more could I expect? I sat up in bed as he whimpered to himself again, his head on his knees and his hands balled against his stomach. “Hey, pretty boy.” I called across the room, trying to keep up my gruff demeanor. “What’s with the racket?”

“I’m… I’m sorry.” He chattered in a very small voice, no matter how deep it was. “It’s just… cold. I’ll try to be quiet.”

“Pussy ass bitch.” I mumbled as I stood up with a roll of my eyes and a shake of my head, grabbing my blankets and walking the short distance to him, dropping them unceremoniously on top of his head. “For fucks sake, you’re useless.”

He looked up at me with shocked eyes as he untangled his head from my blankets. “These… these are yours?”

“God damn, pretty boy, do you want them or not?!” I snapped, rolling my eyes. “I can’t be having Ritz kids freezing before I talk to them.”

He nodded, his eyes still wide as he lay them out over himself as best as he could. “Thank you.” He whispered, as if saying the words hurt him. “Thank you… Frank.”

I growled in response and stalked back over to my own bed, curling up on the cold, blanket-less mattress. Minus ten points for him, for thanking me. I listened as his breathing fell softer, shallower, and more regular. I listened as he fell asleep. I listened as he moaned in his dreams. I listened as he rolled over in MY blankets as I sat there, cold and oddly irritated by his presence. Fuck, this kid was a problem. He wasn’t like any of the Ritz kids we’d had in here before. Usually, they were so petrified that they couldn’t sleep for the first week, let alone the first night, but once he had blankets, he was out like a light. His flaming red hair marked him as a lowerclassman, not a Ritz boy, which confused me even further. What was his family even doing in a garbage heap like Battery, where the law was the gang with the biggest laser blasters and the baddest members? It didn’t seem a place for him, not really, but here he was. He seemed too pure, too innocent, to even be in the state, let alone Battery City, deadbeat capital of the world, but he was, and now he was in my hideout, using my blankets, like the innocent pussy ass bitch he was. Fucking Pretty Boy, he was going to be more of a hassle than he was worth.


	2. The Interrogation

All my boys were back by sunup, as per usual when we had a boy in holding, but Pretty Boy was still fast asleep on the cot, in my blankets. Minus ten points for Pretty Boy. I was already awake before they walked in, sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at him from across the room. I don’t know why I couldn’t force myself to get up and wake him, have him properly scared by the time everyone else got here, but I couldn’t do it. I watched him sleep, his red hair fanned out around his peaceful baby face, hate and contempt growing in every fiber of my being. I heard a soft tap at the side door, and Wentz walked in, followed by Patrick Stump, Bob Bryar, Toro, and Trohman. They nodded at me, and I nodded at them before I stood up to go wake up Pretty Boy. “Hey, Pretty Boy!” I kicked him in the ribs, rolling him off the cot. “Wake the fuck up, it’s time to play!”

He gasped awake as he hit the cold concrete. Heh, serves the bitch right. His hazel eyes snapped open in terror before realizing where he was and semi-composing himself. Fuck, he’s not scared of us. Why should he be, when I was such a pussy last night? Patty Stump tapped me on the shoulder, whispering in my ear. “What’re we gonna do to him, boss?” He asked, his chubby cheeks raising in a smile and his eyes glittering. 

I smiled, patting his cheek before pushing his face away from me. “We’re gonna treat Pretty Boy to some Battery City hospitality, now aren’t we?” A cheer went up and I laughed deep in the back of my throat. “That’s right, boys. Pretty Boy’s gonna feel like a regular here, isn’t he?” I bent down to be on the redhead’s level, my face inches from his. I could smell him from this close – He still smelled like the Ritz, clean and kempt, faintly of vanilla. His jaw muscle quivered, but he didn’t say a word as I hissed in his ear. “You’ll feel right… at… home… Now won’t you, bitch?”

“My name’s Gerard.” He seethed quietly back, giving me a look to rival my own.

I smiled, standing as I stood back. A sort of fire burned in Pretty Boy’s eyes. This one would be fun to break! “Oh, we’ve got spirit, boys!” I reminded myself to give him a plus 10 points. They cheered as I brought the toe of my boot to his Pretty Boy face, sending him sprawling across the concrete and a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. “Look what you made me do. I hate making them bleed, look at you!” I shook my head, tsk-ing at him sadly. “If you had just nodded like a good boy, this wouldn’t have happened.” I turned back to my boys, picking a few out. “Wentz. Bryar. Quinn. Fuentes. Pick up Pretty Boy and bring him to the room, okay? I want to have a chat with this one… alone.” I smiled sweetly at Pretty Boy as they stepped up, grabbing him roughly by the shoulders, untying him from the post and leading him to a side room with a worn, cracked sign on front that read “Office.” I strode in smugly behind them, finding them standing in the middle of the room with Pretty Boy’s ropes in hand. “Untie him, would you?” I said. Fuck, they’re clueless sometimes. “Cut the ropes, something, idiots, God!”

Wentz stepped forwards, pulling a knife from his belt and dropping to beside Pretty Boy, his eyes glittering as he ran the tip of the blade down the boy’s pale white skin. Pretty Boy’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything as Wentz left a thin red line through his skin. “Wentz!” I reprimanded him, and he lowered the knife to the ropes, cutting through them with a smile that could scare any living soul. He stepped back as Pretty Boy rubbed his wrists, shaking out the rope marks he hadn’t complained about once. I gave the kid plus 10 points – He was tough. “Leave us, boys.” I motioned for them to wait outside, where I knew every one of them would be huddled on the outside of the door. Shit, I’m lucky it’s a thick door. 

Once the door was shut and locked from the outside, I smiled at Pretty Boy. “Alright, looks like it’s just you and me.” I growled. He stood quickly at the sound of the tone I’d taken on, turning to face me. His hands, however, stayed at his sides. 

“I told you.” He said in a voice so thin I barely heard it. “My name’s Gerard.”

“I know your fucking name, Pretty Boy, shit! What do you think I am, deaf?” I shook my head at him, tsk-ing again. “If I wanted to call you your real name, I would, believe me. Now, I’ve got some… Questions for you.” I leered at him, but he didn’t flinch. Shit. Another 5 points for Pretty Boy. I sat easily on the edges of an old, pockmarked desk. “First, why’re you even in Battery? A face as fine as yours belongs somewhere else. I’ll be willing to bet someone like you came from Gen, didn’t you?”

Generator was our bigger sister city to the north. It was all around better – And that’s where this face belonged. He was a middle class Gen kid, everything about him screamed “LOOK! I’m from Gen!”

He stayed quiet as I asked him. I tilted my head, watching his expression. “I asked you a question.” He still didn’t say a thing, his eyes staring blankly forward, not at me, not at the wall, just at nothing. Fuck, if he thinks I’ll sit around while he plays this game… I stood, getting off the desk and crossing the room to him. I brought my hand to his face, grabbing his jaw and turning him to look me in the eye. “Answer me when you’re spoken to, Pretty Boy.” I growled. “I don’t like it much when you don’t answer me.”

He turned his cheek. He turned his fucking cheek! I reached for his head, grabbing him by that fire red hair, pulling him down to his knees in front of me. “I asked you nicely, Pretty Boy.” My voice was dark, thick, genuinely scary, but he wouldn’t crack. I’d cracked so many people by voice alone, and it just wasn’t doing it for him. “Next time I ask you, it’ll be in a note spelled in your precious baby brother’s blood.” 

He flinched. I could work with a flinch; I had found a weak spot in his armor. “You didn’t think we knew about your Mikey, now did you?” I asked smugly, looking down on him, my hand still gripping his hair. “Well, surprise, baby, I do. Now, are. You. From. Gen?” He cleared his throat quietly, before muttering something under his breath. “What was that, Pretty Boy?” I asked, cupping my ear with my free hand. 

“I said,” he said in a quiet, razor-sharp voice, “fuck you.”

His hazel eyes burned with quiet rage, but all I could see was red. “Fuck ME?” I asked, my hand finding his throat and slamming him against the wall. “Fuck ME now? Shit, honey, I gave you two fucking chances.” I slammed his head against the wall once, twice. “You know how many I usually give someone?” Slam. “One.” Slam. “One.” Slam. “Fucking.” Slam. “CHANCE.” Slam. A trickle of blood left a gash on his temple. It wasn’t bad, that much I was sure. His blood was as candy red as his hair, sticky and warm on my hand as it ran down his neck. “Look what you made me do!” I cooed, bringing my hands from his neck and letting him slump to the ground, showing him my hands coated in his blood. “I didn’t want to hurt your pretty face, I didn’t.” I assured him, licking a drop off of my pointer finger. “I’m sorry, Pretty Boy.” I really wasn’t. “I wouldn’t hurt your Mikey.” I really would. “I just wanted you to cooperate with me! We were having such a lovely chat.” I knelt to be on the same level as him, turning his face gently with one finger to face me. “Don’t you want to finish our chat?”

He looked at me with such intense hatred in those hazel eyes, such loathing, and fuck, that was hot. He pushed himself off the ground, rising to a half-sitting position before doubling over his knees. His world was swimming, I knew that much from experience. He couldn’t see but maybe 2 inches in front of him. I reached down, grabbing his arm and pulling him up to lean on the wall, moving my face inches from his. I knew that, this close, he’d be able to see me through the black. “I’m sorry, Pretty Boy.” I cooed, caressing the side of his face with my fingertips, watching as they left his own blood streaking down his face. His eyes focused on my face, hate still flashing in their amber depths. “Won’t you forgive me?”

His jaw clenched, which made a new wave of pain course through his head, and he whimpered. He turned his eyes back to me when he could finally bear it, speaking through gritted teeth. “Never.” He spat blood at my feet, and I just smiled. All good things come to those who wait.

But waiting was hard, so hard. His Ritz boy smell was intoxicating… His cherry red hair, his Cupid’s bow mouth, his angular jaw… Waiting on this one was damn near impossible. I ran a finger down the side of his face, watching as he flinched away from my touch, watching as his face screwed itself up in revulsion. “Remember last night?” I whispered in his ear, tugging at a loose strand of his hair gently. “When you said you’d do anything – anything – I wanted?” Him being here, putting up with me like this, his hard to crack stoicness, it was all too much. I couldn’t help myself – Pretty boy was a bad influence on me. “Are you still going to do anything for me, Pretty Boy? Anything?” I moved to where our noses were nearly touching, his eyes fluttered as they tried to readjust to me being so close. “Anything… for… me?” I kissed him hard, a kiss void of anything resembling love, a kiss full of hate and lust. When I pulled away, his eyes were wide with shock, but he didn’t say a word. “Anything?”

His lower lip trembled. I’d hit a nerve here – Some of the fear from last night had been reestablished where it belonged. “I…” He stuttered, his hands fluttering by his sides. He was shocked silent.

I’d permit myself to do it, just this once. Just one time. “Gerard?” His name hung, sweet and delicious, in the atmosphere of the room. His eyes widened. “I told you I knew your name.” I smiled, pulling back to a reasonable distance from the boy. Being that close to him for that long… that was a test for me. My hands trembled from where they were clasped behind my back, trembled with the effort it took not to kiss him again, not to tell the boys to go home and leave us here. 

“Please.” He whispered, his eyes still wide. “Just let me go.”

“You’ll still do anything?” I asked again, circling him slowly to come behind him and whisper in his ear. “Anything for me?”

From the way he twitched, I could tell my breath tickled. I laughed softly, moving away from him with an expectant look on my face. His nose twitched as he watched me, fear and hate and countless other emotions flashing over his face. “On a few conditions.” He managed to say after a minute.

I laughed. “Oh, Pretty Boy, you’re in no place to be bargaining!” But… This could be interesting. “Tell you what, I’ll agree on your conditions… Maybe. Have a seat.” I motioned to one of the chairs next to my desk, going to sit in the big, fluffy office chair I’d coveted for years. “What were your… conditions?” I drawled, smiling languidly.

His eyes betrayed him as he sat down. He was scared. Of me. Finally. He wasn’t broken, far from it, but he recognized my power. That would make this a lot easier, definitely. “Well…” He started. Fuck, his voice was as hot as he was. This was practically criminal, his existing and all. “You… you can’t hurt my family! Or me. You can’t hurt me.”

I scoffed, cutting him off. “I never WANTED to hurt you, Pretty Boy. You forced me.”

His eyes widened and he nodded, not arguing the point and continuing on. “We leave Mikey out of all of this.”

“Ah, we’ve got a knight in shining armor here.” I smiled. “Saving your brother. How typical. And?”

He considered this for a minute. “This is all under the table. I’ve got a good reputation, and you’re gonna fuck that up.”

“Not in Battery, Pretty Boy.” I smiled, kicking back in my chair. “You run with me, you’re the top dog. Everyone else? Well, they’re meat.”

He nodded, taking in what I’d said. “Well, besides that… Uhm… I don’t have anything else.” He shrugged.

“I like you!” I smiled. “No money, no jewels, no asking for a position in my boys. I like you. This is what you’re going to do, though. You’re mine, from now on. I won’t hurt you or your precious mommy, and Mikes stays out of it, but you’re my bitch. You answer to me before you even answer to yourself, and you, from now on, are one of the Killjoys.” His eyes widened, but he kept his mouth shut and nodded. “Now, Pretty Bitch, what do you say? Wanna meet your family?” I smiled gleefully, standing up and opening the door to find two of my boys standing guard outside. Toro and Wentz, of course, were there by my side as always. “Let’s start here.” I motioned to them and then to Pretty Boy. “This is Wentz, my right hand man. This is Toro, my left hand man. Boys, this is Gerard, my bitch.”


	3. Reflection

He was mine, he was mine, he was mine. Candy haired pretty boy was my bitch, and he AGREED TO IT. Gerard… Fuck, I loved the way his name rolled off of my tongue. It tasted as good as his Ritz-boy self smelled, or as sweet as candy the color of his hair. He was sitting on the cot in the corner of the room, where we’d put him last night, but he was untied and watching me. His hazel eyes bored straight into me, a questioning look on his face. His hair was matted with his blood, dried to be dark and disgusting instead of syrupy and red. He cleared his throat quietly, trying to get my attention. “Uhm… F… Frank?” He asked quietly.

“Gerard?” I answered, teasing myself more than him with the use of his name. It really was a delicious word.

“Do I have to stay here?” He looked around the warehouse. “Or can I go home? My mom’s gonna worry, and so is Mikey.” 

I scoffed. “Of COURSE you can go home!” I laughed, walking across the room to stand by his cot, picking at his hair. “But not like this. What would your precious mother say? Matted in blood, why, she’d never let you come back. You want to come back, don’t you, Pretty Boy?” I ran my finger down the side of his face, flakes of his dried blood rubbing off and falling to the ground. He nodded slowly, eyes closed, but I could tell he didn’t mean it. “Say it. Say you want to come back.”

“I… I want to come back.” He choked out, my fingers pulling from his face. 

He opened his eyes, and I smiled. “There. Now let’s get you cleaned up.” I grabbed his wrist, pulling him up and motioning for him to follow me. Of course, what choice did he have but to do so? His steps were three lengths behind mine, but he was there. We went into my office again, where we had the luxury of running water from a cracked sink. I pulled a rag from one of my drawers, wetting the edge and turning to him, giving him the cloth. “Blood on your face.” I said, motioning for him to clean it off. He looked at me like he had no clue what to do, and I rolled my eyes, taking the rag from him. “God DAMN, Pretty Boy!” I said, putting a hand on his shoulders and forcing him to his knees, the cloth in my hand as I dabbed at the blood for him. “Fucking useless, you are.”

I grabbed a handful of his hair, pulling his face back to where I could get at it easier. He winced as I ran the rag over the gash on his head and through his hair, cleaning out blood and dirt from his visit here. Being this close to him, my hands brushing against his skin, in his hair, this was pure torture. Sweet, delicious torture, every second of it. He closed his eyes as I ran the cloth over his face, down his neck. I pulled away as he opened them, shaking my head. I don’t fucking like him. He’s my bitch. What the fuck am I doing? I shoved his shoulder, pushing him off balance. “Let’s get you home, Bitch.”

Eyes wide, he followed me. I led him out back to my car, a rarity that we never used anymore. I had to take my laser blaster out of my leg holster to sit comfortably, and dropped it on the floorboards. It was close enough to me that, if he went for it, I could get to it first, but far enough away to make him think he could try. I knew he wouldn’t, he cared about his family too much. It was adorable. He slid into the passenger seat as I started the engine. We drove in silence for about two minutes before he spoke up again, his nasally accent sending shivers up my spine. “How are you going to, y’know, come and find me?”

“I’ll find you.” I said simply.

“How will I know it’s you?”

“Believe me,” I said, pausing, deciding to treat myself with his name, “Gerard, you’ll know.”

He nodded, his eyes wide, as I pulled to the curb of his house. He looked up the steps and then back at me. “You’ll find me. At my house.” 

“Uh-huh.” I affirmed, a sickly smile spreading across my lips. “Your house. Now get out before your mommy dearest has to worry her pretty little head anymore.”

He nodded, opening the door of my beat-up car, stepping out onto the pavement with one last fearful look behind him. I grinned, shutting the passenger door. “Bye, Pretty Boy.” He just nodded again, backing slowly up his driveway. “I said BYE, Bitch.”

“Oh, uhm… Bye… Frank.” He said, backing away.

“It’s Fun Ghoul. Don’t call me Frank.” I yelled after him, and he, you guessed it, fucking nodded. Again. God, sometimes I think the bitch is an idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, thank you guys for reading! I started this story yesterday and it's already got so many hits, I'm amazed. Thank you! Sorry the chapter's short, but I couldn't think of a way to make it longer... More coming soon! xx


	4. Wentz pt. 1

I wouldn’t go back for Pretty Boy, no, not tonight. I couldn’t wait, don’t get me wrong, but I didn’t want to seem too eager. I could picture him perfectly right now, curled up on some fancy, ritzy bed, his candy-red hair unbrushed and his bright hazel eyes open wide as he recapped the day’s events. 

As compared to me, who was sitting in a pile of grimy blankets on a beat-up old cot in the corner of our warehouse. I forgot to mention, our warehouse doubled as my home. Sure, I could sell my car and probably make enough money to buy at least a shack in some rat house, but a car was more impressive, especially in the slums of Battery. Anyways, this way, it gave me an opportunity to keep our warehouse safer. No thugs or vandals could break into the Killjoys, and that was for sure. I brought a blanket to my face and took a deep breath, closing my eyes and savoring it. It still smelled like Pretty Boy, his Ritzed-up smell of vanilla, cigarettes, and coffee. I don’t know what it was about him – he was ten times more fun than any of the other Ritz boys I’d played with. Personally, I think it was his hair. His candy red fucking hair was the wrong color for a Ritz boy, too long and dyed. Ritz boys kept their hair short, usually, and it’s natural color. They prided in it, not taking on our “barbaric” shit. Little did they know what fun they were missing out on. 

But anyways. Most of my boys had dyed hair. Like Wentz, for instance; his hair was dyed bright blue right now, and last week, it had been bleached blonde. I didn’t dye my hair. My boys said it was because I had dreams of becoming a Ritz King, but it was because that shit was expensive and hard to maintain. 

Wentz’s hair, though. I’d always loved his hair, from the moment I’d laid eyes on him. He moved into Battery 5 years ago, at the age of eleven. He’d had green hair then. Even back then, at 13 years old, I’d led a ragtag gang of street kids, and he’d asked to join us. Wentz’s always been loyal… Even when his people left. His mommy dearest left last year, moved to Generator to try her hand at the big game, left Petey boy here. He really was like family, especially after all this time. He was my first bitch, so he’ll always hold a special place in my heart. He even lived here with me now, ever since his old lady left. He’s just some punk kid, he can’t even scrounge up enough money to buy a rat house. So… He crashed here. 

He was the only one here with me right now, actually. He’d just done the perimeter and had come back inside, going to sit on a beat-up pallet chair I’d made and stuck in the far corner. “Quiet tonight,” he remarked. “Not so much as a soul out there. Not even a god damn bug.”

“Good.” I replied. “That’s the way it should be. Nobody messes with us anymore, Wentz.”

He shakes his head, laughing. “Sometimes, I don’t even know why I bother doing perimeter anymore.”

“Still a good habit.” I got up, going to the center of the room where I’d built sort of a fire pit, stacking the kindling and lighting it. It was starting to get colder at night now, what with Winter nipping at Battery’s toes, and that called for a fire, no matter how much I hated building one. “C’mere.” I motioned for Wentz to join me next to the tiny fire. He did, sitting across from me, eyes drawn to the flames. God, I loved those eyes. The way the fire caught against his eyes made me want to jump across the pit and pin him to the pallet behind him. I fucking swear, if he wasn’t my right hand man, he’d be my favorite play-toy. 

Anyways. After it was built up, I tossed a log into the fire and went to grab some food. Most food in Battery was canned, shipped in from somewhere green. God knows the greenest thing we had here was a fucking cactus, let alone anything actually edible. I picked out two cans, one beef stew, one chicken soup, and tossed them to Wentz. “Hey, choose what you want.” I muttered, grabbing two spoons. 

He grabbed beef, of course. He always did. He opened it and stuck it on a rock next to the fire, fiddling with the spoon I tossed him in silence. “What’s glitched with you?” I asked, sitting down. Wentz was never this quiet, this was new.

“Just thinking…” He mused softly, almost under his breath. “About your new boy, actually. I’ve never seen you take someone so fast.”

“Yeah?” So what if I decided Pretty Boy was mine? Did Went really want him that bad?

“Well, except for me. You took me right away. Is he…” He trailed off, raising his eyes to meet mine.

“Is he what, Wentz, goddammit, spit it out!” I said.

He cleared his throat, holding my gaze. “Is he gonna replace me?”

I scoffed. “What gave you that idea, dickhead?” I asked, smirking and shaking my head. “He’s new; he couldn’t replace my right hand man. You’re an idiot sometimes, Wentz.”

He laughed low in his throat, running a hand through his ultramarine hair as he dropped his eyes. “Good.” He said quietly. “Cuz I’d miss this.”

“Miss what? Cold-ass nights and old food?” I half-smirked, but my eyes were warm.

“No. Well, yeah, that too, but… I’d miss us. This, you and me, man. What we’ve got… I ain’t had this with anybody before. It’s like… Like, you care.” 

He stumbled over his words. If he was being this honest, he had actual worry I’d replace him with Pretty Boy. I scoffed, smiling softly at the ground, a hand rubbing at the nape of my neck. “Course I care, Wentz, you’re my bitch, remember? A man’s gotta care for his bitches.” He smiled at the ground, not meeting my eyes, and holy Hell, the firelight on his face and his new blue hair and the way he was so worried about me, it was driving me half-way to crazy. “Look at me, Wentz.” I said, moving to be closer to him, grabbing his hair with one hand and pulling his head up to look at me. “I could never replace you, okay? Never. You’re mine, forever.” I couldn’t take this chick-flick sappiness one minute longer. What the fuck was I even doing? I mean, he’s just Wentz. Just a boy. I let go of his hair, pushing his head back a little harder than I supposed was necessary, and grabbed up my food. Without another word or a glance up at Wentz, I started to eat.

I liked beef better, dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's kind of a filler chapter, but this is going somewhere, I promise you. Cx


	5. Wentz pt. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I really shouldn't have cut this chapter in half, and IDK why I did, but forgive me? :P

It was later that night, and Wentz and I were in our cots. His was a few feet from mine, still against the wall, but towards the middle of the room. He was close enough that I could hear his breathing, close enough to know that he was still awake. His breathing hadn’t settled down yet, but I was kind of glad. I didn’t want to be the only one awake. Wentz… I sighed, rolling over to be able to see his cot. I could barely make out his shape, a familiar lump in the dark, but it was… Fuck, I don’t know. I really shouldn’t be thinking about this, not with Wentz especially. Sometimes, I wondered what Battery would think if they found out that Fun Ghoul, the guy they feared so much, was a midget who liked dick. What would they say if they knew their leader was openly bisexual? The way my boys and I see it, if you’re bi, you’ve got twice the conquests to be made, and that’s the way it is. But… The Ritz doesn’t necessarily agree with that. 

Since when have I cared what they thought, though? Fuck, I was going soft. I swung my legs over the side of the cot, going to the door to look out on the streets I owned, the proverbial King of Battery. Since when had I cared what my town thought about me? The streetlights flickered across the narrow road, lighting the way for a few dumbass moths to fly right into the light, a rat to run across the road into another abandoned building. My empire of shit, that’s what this is. Now, being King of Generator, that’s where the real money was. I didn’t have enough boys to even think of that, though, but hey, a man can dream. 

I sighed, leaning against the aluminum doorframe. I still had Wentz, though, and Pretty Boy. Fucking hell, Pretty Boy… I shook my head softly, picturing his crimson-red hair in my mind. His little smirk, his eyes, the way he held himself… I fucking hated him. Every inch of him infuriated me, every goddamn inch, and I just wanted more. I remembered how he’d tried to defy me, when I brought him to the office, the way he’d been absolutely fucking clueless as to how he was supposed to get his blood out of his hair, the look he gave me as he backed up his driveway. Gerard… I hated that name so much.

There was a noise behind me, and my entire being snapped to attention. It was just Wentz, having gotten up out of bed to come and stand behind me in the doorway, looking out over the night that was as much his as it were mine. I froze, him just inches away from me, and before I even knew what I was doing, I had whipped around and my hand was in his hair, pulling his face to mine. He was rigid for a fraction of a second, caught off guard by my surprise attack, before he bent to kiss me back. His teeth pulled softly on my lip ring and I growled against his lips, pushing him up against the wall as his hands pulled at my back. “Fuck you, Wentz,” I growled into the kiss before breaking off. He looked down at me, his breaths ragged. “That’s hardly fair.”

“Since when have I been fair?” He asked, his voice husky. 

I laughed low in my throat, raking my eyes over him. His eyes were stuck on mine, watching my face, his hands twitching at his sides. He wanted me, wanted another kiss so bad, but he’s my bitch; He wouldn’t move first, not for a million bucks. Well, okay, maybe for a million bucks, but you get my point. He licked his lips, studying my face in the dim streetlights. I took one last look out towards my empire of shit, shutting the doors to the warehouse and turning my attention to Wentz. I reached for his ultramarine hair, pulling his face back to mine again. I wouldn’t admit it to myself, never, but I really think that whatever it was Wentz and I had, it wasn’t a relationship. He was just a familiarity, something to connect with. I didn’t love him, not really, but I still… loved him, you know? His rough lips on mine, his eyes sparkling in the firelight, the way he knew how to pull all my strings. It was infuriating.

And that’s exactly why I wanted more. He moaned softly as my hands found the back of his neck, digging my fingernails into his soft skin as my other hand held on to his hair. He bit at my lip, gasping against my touch as my fingers hit a bruise on his shoulder, which only made me chuckle darkly, pulling away for a minute with a joking light in my eyes. “God DAMN, Wentz,” I said softly, my lips turned up in a smirk “If you wanted me that bad, you could’ve just said something.”

I was teasing him, of course, but Wentz took it literally. “I… I want you, Ghoul. Frank.” His fingers twitched against my neck, pulling me to him again, his body pressing into mine, his lips rough and solid against my own. “I need you.”


	6. Pretty Boy's Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longgggg chapter to make up for the last one. :3

It had been maybe a week, maybe less, since I had dropped Pretty Boy off at his house, and I had thoroughly convinced myself he disgusted me. His nasty ass accent, his simply disgusting hair, the way he had cowered from me when I mentioned his brother, all of it was too much. And it was time to get him back.

I wouldn’t pick him up in the car – that suddenly gave him status he didn’t deserve. So I walked, with Wentz at my side, walked across the Rat houses and the Ritz, all the way to Pretty Boy’s house. I swaggered up their paved drive, leaning against a post on the porch as I knocked on his door. The door swung open, a confused looking kid on the other side. Well not a kid, exactly – He was probably already as tall as Pretty Boy, but with dark brown hair, swept to one side, and glasses. He had a beanie pulled over his head as if he was gonna go somewhere – Where, in this shithole, I couldn’t imagine. He looked us over before I started talking, drawling languidly. “Hello, Mikey boy!” He flinched when I said his name. “Is Pr… Gerard home?”

He nodded, pushing his glasses up his face. He had Pretty Boy’s eyes. Fuck, this kid was young, but he had a whole hell of a lot going for him. I could tell Wentz was thinking the same thing. His eyes were glued to Little Pretty’s face, watching his reaction, memorizing details. “Well, are you going to go get him for me?” I asked Mikey patiently.

“Why should I?” His voice was also heavily accented and deep, less nasally then his brother’s, and Wentz’s eyes opened just a tad wider. “It’s not like he wants to see you.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” I answered, nodding sagely. “Tell him Ghoul’s here for a bit of fun.”

Mikey seemed to consider what I might mean by fun before tugging on the side of his beanie and trudging off to get Pretty Boy, his face expressionless. He shut the door behind him, leaving us standing around on the porch, and I glanced over at Wentz. “Piece of work, ain’t he?”

Wentz nodded slowly, his eyes finally leaving the doorway. “How old did you say he was?” He asked.

I laughed, seeing where he was going with this. “Fourteen. Perv.” I replied, laughing low in my throat. 

“Hey!” Wentz teased back. “He’s only 2 years younger than me. That’s not a lot, right?”

“He’s still a fetus. That’s practically criminal.” I answered, rolling my eyes, but we both knew that wasn’t true. The younger Way boy… He was delicious. He had an emo-Gen-City-middy-trash-nerd vibe going for him, and a face good enough to eat… But I had promised Pretty Boy. Shit. I may be a big gang badass, but I still tried to keep good on my promises. But… I turned to Wentz again. “You know, YOU didn’t promise not to touch little Mikes.”

Wentz’s whole face lit up, and I laughed just as the door opened, Pretty Boy standing on the other side, looking tired and wary. “Hi, Fr… Ghoul. Wentz.”

“Oh, he speaks!” I rolled my eyes “You remembered my name, Pretty Boy, how sweet.”

He laughed low in his throat, a forced laugh, and I’m 100% sure that laugh was for his brother’s benefit. Mikey was standing in the door behind him, his eyes on me, Wentz’s eyes on him. “Course I remembered. Now, Mikey said you wanted me to come out… for some fun?”

“Of course!” I spread my hands out wide. “Since when have I not shown you a good time?”

Mikey’s eyes had shifted. I could feel his gaze, burning a hole into my side, right where… Oh shit. He’s a Ritz kid, he’s not used to people carrying around laser blasters in broad daylight. I gave him a big smile as Gerard sighed, stepping out to come with me and Wentz. “Alright then, out it is.” He said, coming to stand just barely in front of me. 

“Out.” I said, grinning, before turning to Mikey. “I didn’t introduce myself, how fucking rude! I must be glitched.” Gerard flinched as I grinned at his little brother. “The name’s Ghoul, Fun Ghoul, Leader of the Killjoys. Ask around, everyone’s heard of me.” I did a little fake bow before turning to Wentz. “This is Petey Wentz, my second… Which, I guess makes him Vice-Leader.”

Mikey’s eyes flitted over us again, locking with Wentz’s for a minute before turning to face me, but clearly talking to his brother. “Be back before 11:00. Mom’s gonna kill me if I let you get killed. You know how she feels about gang trash.”

Gerard sighed, giving his brother a pleading look, before turning back to me. “Let’s just go.” He suggested, taking a step to the edge of his porch. 

“Ooh, excited, are you?” I teased him, smirking as I followed, Mikey still staring a hole into my back. “To the warehouse.” He walked a little ways down the street, out of sight of his house, before I made a noise in the back of my throat, making him turn around to face me. “Do you even know where you’re going, Pretty Boy?

“Sort of. Not exactly.” He answered lamely, shrugging. “I was going back to the block of 17th and Vamp, cuz that’s where you found me…”

“There’s a shorter way.” I rolled my eyes. “You’re new here, you don’t know the side cuts yet. Look, right here.” I went over to a hidden alley way, smirking as I kicked a box out of our way. “We’re not even out of the Ritz yet, here’s a fast way back to our place. These things are everywhere.” 

I walked proudly through, Wentz flanking Pretty Boy so he couldn’t get away. I knew he wouldn’t – he’s not that stupid. If we found him once, we’ll find him again, especially in my city. I snaked through alleyway after alleyway until we came back out into my home territory, where everything was turning to shit and falling apart. Pretty Boy looked around as we led him down the block, a few of my other boys slowly drifting out to meet us as we passed. Before we’d walked more than 10 minutes, we were trailed by Patty Stump, Trohman, Quinn, Fuentes, and Toro, making a good looking parade down the streets. Patty crept up to walk next to Pretty Boy, grinning up at him and adjusting his fedora. “I remember you!” He said, his eyes genuinely friendly. That’s the downside to Stump, he’s a fucking teddy bear. “Ghoul brought you in last week, didn’t he? Gerard, right?”

To hear Patty say Pretty Boy’s name just kind of solidified it for me, making me smirk. Gerard. His name was delicious, almost as good as his face “Yup.” He said, his accent slurring the word. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Stump, Patrick Stump.” He answered, fidgeting with his laser blaster’s holder. “I moved here from Generator about three years ago… I was in a gang up there before, the Ghastlies? It was really cool, we…” 

I turned around, cutting Patty off. “Are you gonna give him your fucking biography, Stump, god damn!” I said, curling my lip in an approximation of a smile. In truth, it was the Ghastlies’ name that gave me the creeps – They’d been trying to invade our city for years now, ever since I could remember. That’s how I got to lead the Killjoys, actually, they killed our old leader. His name had been Billy, went by Midnight Monarch, and he’d have been maybe 26 now, if Stump’s partners in previous crime hadn’t decided to cauterize a hole in his head with a high powered blaster. Their leader had been fucked up pretty badly though, and gave the reigns to some girl named Jamia. I didn’t know a thing about her, besides she was always trying to kill me.

“Sorry, boss.” 

Stump gave me an apologetic smile, and I absentmindedly patted him on the cheek. “It’s alright, coming from you… You don’t know when to stop.” 

We moved on in relative silence, Quinn and Fuentes bickering in the background as per usual, Pretty Boy matching me step for step, a pace behind me. We snaked to our warehouse, leading Pretty Boy in the front door. He looked around the warehouse, a familiarity washing over his face as the events of a week ago replayed in his mind. He shot a look towards my office, and I laughed. “You miss it here, Pretty Boy?” I asked him, motioning around. “It’s a shithole compared to the mansion your mommy dearest bought you, but I guess if you like it so much…” I laughed low in my throat.

“No, no, it’s not that, it’s just…” He cleared his throat. “I’m remembering last time.”

“Of course you are.” I shook my head, smiling unsettlingly. “So am I; it’s hard to forget.”

Pretty Boy swallowed, looking around before bringing his eyes back to me. “What did you come get me for?”

“Am I not allowed to get my bitch?” I asked, smirking. “Something told me you’re not as loyal as I’d like… I brought you back to convince you otherwise.”

He nodded slowly. “What are we doing this time?”

“Well…” I drawled. “I figured I’d introduce you to a few boys, and then we’d spend some... quality time together.” I watched his face as I stressed this last part – It remained expressionless. Damn, he was good. “You enjoy quality time, right?” He remained quiet. “RIGHT, Pretty Boy?”

“Right,” He smirked, looking back up at me. “Last time was SO fun. Headaches for days, Frank. That’s my idea of enjoyable.”

I felt anger bubble up inside of me, but I pushed it back down and smiled instead. “Mine too.” The words were audibly forced. “You know what, let’s cut out the first part. I think it’s fun time.”

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and I grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to my office again. He kept his mouth shut, though, so ten points to him. If he had said another word, one more fucking word, he would have been toast. There would have been unlimited fun for me, with Pretty Boy staying here, but something told me he’d miss his mommy dearest and little Mikey. I shoved him into my office roughly, slamming the door behind us to a quiet babble from my boys. Slamming doors and tense words, they knew, meant no good. Especially for Pretty Boy. He habitually went to sit on the cold metal bench, watching me the whole time. “Speaking out at me in front of my boys was a very bad idea, Pretty Boy. I wouldn’t suggest you do it again.” I told him in a patient voice. 

“Or what?” He sneered. “You’ll hurt my pretty face? You already told me that you didn’t want to do that, FRANK.” He stressed my name, using it as an insult, and I matched his sneer.

“I don’t like to do it, but I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.” I told him, sitting on the edge of my desk. I don’t know why I did that – sitting on my desk exemplified how short I am. My feet didn’t touch the ground. “Now, I never got to finish asking you questions.”

“Nobody guaranteed I’d answer.” He said quickly, smiling.

“Nobody guaranteed I wouldn’t kill your ass, either, but I haven’t yet, now have I?” I said sweetly, getting down to pat his cheek. “Now, are you gonna play along... Gerard?”

He flinched away from my hand, rolling his eyes to hide his surprise at me using his name. “For now… I guess.”

“Good boy.” My voice was sharp and scathing. “Now. You ARE from Gen, you said that, right?”

“Maybe.” He said, before catching my glare. “Okay, god, yes! I’m from Gen. Happy now?”

“Angsty, aren’t we?” The corners of my mouth turned up in a close approximation of a smile. “Now. Tell me a bit about yourself.”

He stared at me long and hard before he started talking. “Well, how much do you already know? My name’s Gerard, I’m from Gen, I’m a dropout, and I’m 17. There’s not much else to it.”

“Something tells me you’re not that simple. Your little Mikes said your mom doesn’t approve of gangs, like you’d been with one in the past. Were you a Ghastly?” He remained quiet before shaking his head. “Ah, a little one. A Vamp?” He shook his head. “A Darling? You could be a Darling – There’s mostly girls in there, though. Your face’s pretty enough.”

He coughed in surprise, choking on his spit in laughter. “I’m not a fucking Darling, that’s for sure. What do you think I am, a yandere freak?”

I shrugged, before thinking. “You react like that to Darlings, you’ve got to be a Lost Boy.” His eyes flicked to mine momentarily, and I grinned. “I caught it, didn’t I? Who’s your Peter Pan freak of a leader now, huh? I already killed the last guy to call himself Pan. Elijah, wasn’t it? He was a pretty one.” I watched his face as I talked about what was apparently an old friend of his, watched his revulsion. “Dark hair, blue eyes, that’s always a good combination. Fucking German nose, the little kind. He was cute as fuck, fun to kill.” His eyes lit up with anger, and I smiled. It was working. He was hotter when he was pissed at me. “And he died in such a stupid ass way… Saving this little punk, name was Levi or some shit. Wentz killed him. It was fucking useless! I liked Elijah, I didn’t want to kill the poor fuck; he would have been a fun toy.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” He seethed quietly, eyes on mine, burning with hate.

“What, he your boyfriend? Did I kill your fuckboy?” I teased, my voice syrupy sweet, my eyes cold as steel.

He swallowed, his eyes set, but didn’t deny it. “I did, didn’t I?” I circled him slowly, curiosity written all over me. “I killed Pretty Boy’s boyfriend! I left the fucktoy alive and killed his master, didn’t I? I bet he topped you, didn’t he?”

“Shut the fuck up!” He roared, his accent cutting his words with a savage air, and I laughed.

“You don’t think I’ve been told that before?” I asked. “I should’ve killed you with your master.”

“He wasn’t my goddamn master.” He seethed. “Elijah was like my brother.”

“With benefits, right?” I teases him, my eyes lighting. “Brother who fucked you?”

“No!” He yelled, his hands balled into fists. His right thumb rubbed at his waistband, where a laser blaster would have been hooked if he were a Lost Boy still. “He was the closest thing to family I had.”

“Don’t pull that shit, Pretty Boy!” I said, rolling my eyes. “You’ve got your Mommy Dearest, your little Mikes, you’re lucky as fuck when it comes to the family department, okay? Besides, you’re less pretty when you’re lying. There’s a line that runs down your forehead… right… here…” I dragged the tip of my thumb across his forehead, my entire being focusing on not slamming him back against the wall and kissing the fuck out of him. He slapped my hand away, and I laughed. “Well fuck me sidways, we have some spirit!” I said, grinning. “That’s what I was looking for, be angry at me, let it out. Beat me up, Pretty Boy. Do it. Do it, Gerard, I fucking dare you.” I did it, I said his name. Fuck, I loved the way his name tasted. He didn’t do it, though. His hands stayed at his sides, his eyes still on me. “You won’t do it, I guarantee it, you wanna know why? I bet you that somewhere in there,” I poked him gently in the chest, “Some sick little part of you likes doing this, doesn’t it? You like being beat down, bossed around, am I right?”

“Say one more word, I fucking swear.” He whispered, his eyes burning with fire. “Say one more word and I promise you, I’ll fucking knock you out.”

“And then what, Pretty Boy?” I scoffed. “There’s got to be at least 20 people outside that door, all on my side – What would you do then? You can’t beat Wentz in a fight, hell, I can barely beat Wentz in a fight.” I laughed, hands on my hips. “Knock me out then, see where that’d get you.” 

He tensed, bouncing on the balls of his feet, and then took a lightning-quick swing at my face. I didn’t get my hands up in time, and it connected solidly with my nose, sending me sprawling against my desk with a loud clatter. He dove at me as I landed, but I rolled out of the way and grabbed his arm, pinning him to my desk, me almost laying on his chest to keep him there. I could feel blood dripping from my nose, and I looked at him with a sick smile on my face, shaking my head. “Is that all you got?” I asked quietly. “Weak, Pretty Boy. I had hope for you.” I reached over, grabbing a rag and wiping it across my face to get rid of the blood, he still pinned to my desk. “You really are a bitch, you know that? You’re nothing more than a glitched chapter 11, I bet you.”

“Oh, and you’re a ten?” He asked scathingly. Chapter 11 was slang for gay, two of the same things pressed together, and ten was slang for straights. “You look like such a ten, FRANK, with the way you keep coming after me.”

“You’re in such a position to be talking.” I replied, smiling sickly at him. “You’re the one pinned to the desk and not struggling. You’ve got to weigh, what, 60 pounds more than me? Don’t tell me you can’t get out from under me.” He shoved me hard in the chest, scrambling away from the desk, and I grinned, landing nimbly on my feet. “Told you.”

“Shut the fuck up.” He growled, his eyes still angry.

“Make me.” I grinned wryly, leaning provocatively against my desk. “You can’t, can you? That’s exactly your problem – You don’t know how to deal with me. You’re either with me or I destroy you, Pretty Boy, there’s only two ways about it.” I smirked. “Or, you know what, I’ll cut you a deal. Give me your precious little Mikey, and you can walk. I won’t come after you again, I won’t talk to you, you’ll live a life of Battery luxury. Is that what you want?”

“Never.” He spat at my feet. “I’d never let my brother come into this.”

There was a loud noise from outside, and I grinned. “It sounds like it’s too late.” I said, opening my office door to find Wentz pinning the younger Way boy to the ground. “Why HELLO, Mikey! How nice of you to drop by. Your brother and I were just talking about you.”

“He was prowling around outside, Ghoul.” Wentz said, pulling Mikey up by the collar to stand in front of me. “What should we do to him?”

“It depends.” I said, smiling at Pretty Boy, who had a shocked and disgusted look on his face. I pulled out my laser blaster, holding it level with Mikey’s head. “What SHOULD we do, Pretty Boy? Is your brother innocent? Or should I shoot him?”

Pretty Boy missed the glance Wentz and I shared; we both knew I wouldn’t kill Pretty Boy’s brother. He was too… Too important to Pretty Boy. Too gorgeous. His jawline, I was noticing, was almost just like his brother’s. I traced the barrel of my blaster down his face, tracing his jaw with the cold steel. “Holy fuck, don’t shoot him!” Pretty Boy yelled, his eyes wide as he stepped between me and his brother. “He’s just a kid!”

I laughed, holstering my blaster. “I wouldn’t shoot him, not for this. I don’t want to shoot him. Like you said, he’s a kid. That’s a waste of a blast. However,” I looked Mikey up and down. He was trying his damnedest not to look scared, not in front of his brother. How fucking adorable. “We could give him a warning?”

Wentz’s eyes glittered, and Pretty Boy looked at us warily. “You promised you’d leave him out of this.” He said, catching the look in Wentz’s eyes cagily. 

“Exactly.” I grinned, spreading my hands out wide. “I said that I would leave him out of it. I didn’t say that he couldn’t waltz right in, now did I?”

Pretty Boy seemed to realize where this was going. Mikey made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, shifting under Wentz’s grasp, the collar of his shirt pressed up against his neck, and Pretty Boy glanced over at him, his eyes wide and helpless, his fingers brushing over where his laser blaster would have been. “Excuse the pun,” I said, grinning, “But you look… Lost, boy.” I laughed, but nobody else did. I just pretended they had, grinning, my hand resting on my blaster. “You need me to clarify the situation for you, Bitch? Mikey’s walked right into Wentz’s hands. Wentz didn’t promise not to hurt him. You’re in a bad place, Pretty Boy, with nobody to back you up or even second you. I’ve got a second, Hell, my second’s second’s second has a second! He’s probably got one, too. What are you gonna do? We can’t very well let your little Mikes go, now can we? He followed us, Bitch. You need to keep tighter rein on your baby brother.”

“It won’t happen again.” Pretty Boy seethed between his teeth, eyes on Mikey. 

“You’re damn right it won’t.” I nodded at Wentz, who kept ahold of Mikes’ throat, leading him outside with a rough shove. “Now, Pretty Boy, how are we gonna make sure of that? Toro,” I said, turning to Ray, who was laying on the ground with his Rottweiler’s head on his chest. “I want you to make some sort of deal with Pretty Boy. I’ll be back.”

I strode outside after Wentz. I wasn’t going to confront him or Mikes, I was going to watch. I’d never seen how Wentz handled someone after I had told him to get him out, I’d just assumed he’d done it. I crept into a side alley, hiding behind an old stack of corrugated within view of Wentz. He had let go of Mikey’s throat, and was massaging at his knuckles absentmindedly whilst they talked. “Sorry about that,” Wentz said softly. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.” I couldn’t tell if he was joking. Was he kidding me? Please don’t tell me Wentz had gone soft for the little Way kid. He was fourteen years old, for God’s sakes! 

“Nah, I’ve had worse.” Mikey said, his hand rubbing at his throat where Wentz had held him. “Why are you being nice to me? Isn’t Ghoul gonna, like, kill you for talking to me? Aren’t you supposed to be getting rid of me?”

“Yeah,” Wentz said, running a hand through his blue hair with a smile. “But I’m kind of a rebel. I like you, kid, you’ve got spark.” That was the closest thing to a compliment I’d ever heard Wentz say. “Now run off, don’t get yourself killed, and don’t come back.”

“What if I want to?” Mikey said, pushing his glasses back into place. “You can’t order me around.”

“No, but I can kill you.” Wentz said, laughing. “Now get out of here, dickhead, before Frank figures out you’re still here.”

Mikey nodded, taking a step backwards. “Thanks… For not killing me, I mean.”

Wentz laughed, moving to turn around. “Thanks for not being such an asshole that I had to kill you.”

Mikey turned around without another word, leaving up the road, back to the Ritz, and Wentz went back inside. What the fuck. Had Wentz went soft? He’d never hesitated to do what I asked before… Did he have a thing for the Way boy? That’s the last thing I fucking needed.


	7. Don't Make Me Shoot You

I slipped in a side door, coming out from the back just as Wentz walked in, coming to where Toro had Pretty Boy sitting on a pallet. Toro had his back to me, but I could tell he was smiling. Pretty Boy, however, had blood trickling from a cut just above his eyebrow. That was just too much, after what I saw outside, now this. I shoved Toro off his seat, sending him to the ground, anger flashing in my eyes. “What the fuck, Toro?” I yelled, kicking him in the stomach before grabbing a handful of his shirt and pulling him to his knees. “I told you not to fucking hurt him! What the fuck is this? What are you doing? Shit, Toro, can’t you take a simple goddamn order?”

“I… I’m sorry, Boss!” He cowered away from me, fighting the impulse to bring his hands to his face. “He just… He tried to punch me.”

“So you made him bleed.” I rolled my eyes, faking as if I was going to step away before turning back and taking a swing at Toro, connecting with his nose and sending him sprawling. He sat up, a dazed, surprised look in his brown eyes, a trickle of blood running from his nose. “Blood for blood, Toro, not before. What the fuck, what have I taught you? You’re fucking worthless.” I turned back to Pretty Boy, swapping my growl of distaste for a half-smile and a pitying expression. “I’m so sorry, Pretty Boy, some people don’t know how to fucking behave.” I brought my fingers to his neck, curling one around a strand of his cherry-red hair, the other going to swipe at the blood from his forehead. I looked at his blood, again on my hands, and I grinned, showing him my hand. “Your hair’s the same color as your blood.” I pointed out, popping my finger and his blood into my mouth. 

“That’s fucking disgusting.” Pretty Boy said, eyeing my hand in distaste. “What if I had AIDS?” 

“Monkey diseases with such a pretty face?” I said, laughing. “You’re a Ritz kid, you don’t have AIDS. Now, it’d have been disgusting if I did this.” The hand on his neck moved to the back of his head, preventing him from lunging back as I licked his cut, coming back with a grin to his disgusted face. “Now that would have been disgusting.”

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as I let go of him. He wiped at his forehead where I’d licked, opening his hazel eyes to meet with mine. “What now?” He asked, trying to hide how much I’d grossed him out.

“Don’t you want to go after your brother dearest?” I asked, motioning to the door. “By all means, Pretty Boy, go make sure he isn’t lying dead in a ditch somewhere.”

He stood up, backing towards the door with his eyes on me. “I’ll be back,” He said, uncertainty quivering in his voice.

I laughed as he ran out, watching the door shut behind him with a satisfied feeling in my chest before turning to Wentz, who was watching me with a strange smile on his face. “You didn’t kill the poor fuck, did you?” I asked, knowing full well he didn’t.

“Hell no, not with a face like that.” Wentz replied, his weird-ass smile growing into something more confident. “You saw him, he’s practically edible.”

“You can say that twice.” I replied, patting him on the back. “Did you make sure to scare him good and proper, so he won’t come back?” Wentz nodded, but his nod was off. I cocked my head to the side, watching his face. “Come into my office… We need to talk. Toro, you’re in charge while I’m gone.” 

His eyes widened, but he followed me anyhow. After he came in and leaned against my desk, I shut the door, turning around to face him and, again, being caught off-guard by how blue his hair was. Fuck, my boys really should learn not to be so bright… “What is it?” He asked, absentmindedly rubbing at his leg. 

“You’ve got a thing for baby Mikes.” I said flat out, staring him dead in the eyes. When he didn’t say anything, I sighed, taking a step towards him. “Look, Wentz, if you’ve gone soft…”

“I haven’t gone fucking soft!” He almost yelled, looking genuinely horrified I’d mentioned it. So this was a good sign. “Why the fuck would I go soft for some punk kid?”

“I don’t know, why the fuck would you?” I spat back at him. “He’s just a kid, like you said, nothing special. Why him?”

“I’m not going soft for him, I didn’t choose anyone!” He yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “I got rid of him, like you said!”

“Did you?” I shifted my weight back, shoving my hands in my pockets with a terse smirk. 

He scoffed, turning to look at me. “Look, Frank, if you don’t trust me, then get another second. I’m tired of feeling like everything I do isn’t good enough around here.”

“I’m not getting another fucking second until you’re dead and buried, shithead, get over it. You wanna leave, then leave, but it won’t end well for you.” I seethed quietly, my shoulders tense in a way Wentz had learned was dangerous. When I got this motherfucking mad, it never ended well. Last time I got this irate was at the last battle with the Ghastlies when I was still under Billie Joe, and I ended up basically killing their leader, Kurt, in cold blood. Wentz, I could tell, was remembering that, but was well-past the point of caring.

“I think I will.” He said back, sounding just as calm as I had, but I could hear the edge to his words. 

He moved towards the exit door from my office, which led out to a side-alley, and I pulled out my laser blaster. He stopped immediately when he heard the click and whir of it firing up, turning around slowly to stare at its barrel. “I said you’re not going to stop being my goddamn second until you’re fucking dead, Wentz. Take one more step and I’ll make good on my fucking promises.”

His eyes were narrowed, his hands clenched at his sides. “You wouldn’t shoot me, Ghoul.”

“Or would I?” I said, cocking the blaster and lining it up for a straight kill shot. 

He hesitated, his eyes flickering as if questioning if I would shoot him. He shrugged almost nonchalantly, his eyes dangerously bright as he turned around. “Whatever, Frank. Shoot me if you want.” 

He walked back to the door with what I would almost call a swagger, and that was it. I shot the wall next to his head, causing the whole building to vibrate as the specially-designed interior of my office absorbed the blast. He looked at the smoking spot on the wall two inches from his head and then, slowly, turned his eyes to me. They were wide, fear and anger and I-don’t-give-a-fuck mixing in their depths. “I won’t miss next time, Pete.” I said, surprising us both by my use of his first name. I knew he hated his first name. “Don’t make me fucking shoot you.”

“Honestly, Iero? He said calmly, shrugging in typical Wentz fashion. “I could care less.” 

He opened the door, his eyes locked with mine until they slid behind the doorframe. I didn’t shoot him, I couldn’t. My finger was stuck, quivering, on my trigger, my sights zeroed in on his temple until it slid from sight and the door clicked softly shut as he left. My hands, I realized, were shaking as I put down the baster and sat in my office chair. I stared at the door for a long minute before a wave of anger and sadness and frustration and horror washed over me, and I let out an animalistic scream, hands pulling at my own hair as I kicked hard at my desk. I knew every one of my boys, possibly even Wentz, could hear me, but I was long past the point of caring. I just screamed, yelling when I finally ran out of breath and throwing everything within reach. “THAT MOTHERFUCKING BITCH, I SWEAR TO GOD!” I yelled, and then something I never expected happened. My eyes prickled as I smashed a cup against the wall, and I wiped my hand across them to have it come back wet. I was crying. “I should have just shot him…” I whispered to myself, collapsing into the giant desk chair, sobs wracking my body now. “That no-good bitch, I should have shot him while I had the chance.” I hiccupped out another sob, curling my knees to mu chest and holding my head in my hands. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, I almost killed him. I almost killed him. Oh my fucking god. I almost killed Wentz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda angsty chapter Cx Comment what you think? I wasn't so sure about this one... :P But it's building up to something. I think.


	8. Damn You, Wentz

Pretty Boy did, as he promised, come back. It was late, almost dark, but he was back. I hadn’t left my office since Wentz had left, not for anything. The Rottweiler, Rudy, chewed up one of my blankets and I didn’t leave. They had dinner and I didn’t leave. There was a poor, confused, stoned as fuck Rat House kid that walked by and I didn’t leave and grab him. I stayed curled up in my chair listlessly for maybe minutes, maybe hours, until Toro knocked on my office door. “The Way boy’s back, Boss.” He said through the door, twisting the handle as if to open it.

“Keep that door fucking shut.” I said, just as it cracked open, and he pulled it back. I could almost feel his confusion through the thick wood, but he did as I asked. I sat up, looking at myself in the shard of mirror I kept on my desk. I was a mess – My eyes were red and swollen, my hair tangled and everywhere, tear streaks on my face, so I grabbed an old rag and got it wet, wiping it across my face to rid myself of most of the evidence. “Let Pretty Boy in.” I called, guessing correctly that Toro hadn’t left my door. 

The door opened tentatively and Pretty Boy stepped in, self-consciously closing the door behind him. I still had one knee pulled to my chest, the other dangling off the chair and barely touching the ground. I’m sure I looked probably about ten years old as he walked in, my head resting on the one knee I kept up. “You came back.” I stated blandly, my voice giving my emotions away.

“I did. I said I would.” He said quietly, taking the opportunity to study me. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” I growled, standing up with a hardened gaze. I wasn’t going to have Pretty Boy think I was weak or pathetic or anything like he was. I got out of my chair, picking my blaster up off the desk and sticking it back in its holster, my eyes narrowed as I walked over to him at an attempted languid pace. His eyes flashed with something – Sympathy. Fuck, that’s the last thing I wanted. I had to convince him nothing was wrong, and fast. I tried a cocky smile, tracing a finger down his jaw. “My boys didn’t hurt you on your way in, I trust?” I asked

“N… No.” He managed, a part of him loving my touch, a part of him wanting to pull away. “They were nice.”

“And your baby brother?” I asked, knowing full well that little Mikes was more than fine. “He’s not dead, is he?”

“No, he’s alright…” His hands moved momentarily by his sides, his eyes almost fluttering. I smiled, pulling my finger from his face and turning around to pick up my knife from my desk, buttoning it back to my belt.

“Good.” I could feel his eyes on my back as I straightened my pens. I paused, my hands fidgeting with the hard wood edge of my desk. “We’re on assignment tonight, Pretty Boy, you wanna tag along?”

He was smarter than I gave him credit for – He knew it wasn’t a question, not really, he had to come. “Of course.” He answered with a nod. “What’re we doing?”

“That’s the spirit.” I handed him a waist-holster out of a drawer, and he strapped it on while I talked. “We’re out after someone on an alive-only mission – There’s not a delicate way to put this, Pretty Boy. We’re out after Wentz.” I coughed, turning to him. “Of course, you’ll find out more with the rest of the boys. Let’s go.”

I opened my office door, snaking my way through the crowd of my boys to the gas barrel in one corner climbing up on top of it and clearing my throat. Every head in the room snapped to me, congregating quietly around the barrel. “Alright, boys,” I said in a low, dangerous voice. “I’m sure a few of you know what’s going on here Wentz – Wentz has gone fucking rogue. He’s ahead of us – He left this afternoon, but I think he’s got the common sense to stay in Battery. You all up to finding him?” There was a resounding cheer from everyone, and I raised my hand to quiet them. “This is an alive only mission here – If he dies, you die the slowest, most painful death you can imagine, that clear?” Again, cheers, and I again quieted them. “I want Wentz back. You know I’m not a very good loser, and Wentz is the prize of this game. Find him, and you’ll get… A prize, of sorts. Now – IN LINE!”

Everyone buzzed with excitement, lining up single-file in front of me. Pretty boy was slow, but I’d give him that, for it being his first mission. Everyone that came to me got a black X on the back of their neck and a look in the eye, until Pretty Boy came up. “Turn,” I said, standard with my boys, and he did, lifting his hair for me to get at his neck – where there was already a mark. He had a faded L inked on his skin, from the Lost Boys, and I smirked. “Oh-ho, Pretty Boy!” I said, marking his neck. “Lost Boys claimed you good, didn’t they?”

He shrugged, his hand almost going back to his neck. “The L is still there?” He asked.

“It appears so, doesn’t it?” I said, turning to the mirror to draw quick X’s over my eyes, then going back to the barrel, running and jumping nimbly onto the top. “ALRIGHT!” I yelled, fist up. “Keep your boots tight, your guns close, your coms in, and let’s move! I want Wentz, and I want him back before sunrise. Move out!” 

I jumped down, starting the primal scream we’d come accustomed to, grabbing our flag and running out the front door, trailing it behind me for the first block I ran, before throwing it to the side and letting my boys fan out around me. We’d gone over the rogue drill so many times that it was engrained into everyone’s memories, so this should be easy – minus one thing. It was engrained into Wentz’s memory, too. He could probably figure out a way to miss us, somehow, so I turned to the three people still hanging back, close to me. “Toro, Stump, Pretty Boy,” I addressed them. “We’re gonna do something a bit… different. Toro, I want you to stay here. If Wentz comes back, then com me, and I’ll be back within ten minutes, from anywhere in the city. Stump, you’re on diagonals. Run around, look for places Wentz goes, check the alleys, check Mama’s Diner, check his old rat house if you have to, but find me my second. Pretty Boy, you’re coming with me. I want you on something special. Dismissed.”

Toro and Stump left, and I turned to Pretty Boy, who had been eyeing me curiously. “We’re going to where he is – I just needed to get my boys out of the way. Wentz still has his com – He knows every bit of activity that’s going on tonight.”

Pretty Boy nodded. “So… Where is he, then?” He asked, sweeping a hand through his cherry red hair.

“Hiding.” I said simply, watching the frustration curl up Pretty Boy’s face. “You’ll see, now let’s go, or we’ll never catch him.”

I started snaking through alleyways, headed to where I was 99% sure Wentz had gone. It only made sense, really. It’s not like he had a lot going for him, besides everyone in the town knowing he was my second. That’d keep him safe enough… as long as he stayed in our territory. Where we were headed, it was pretty risky land, on the edge of town, in the No-Man’s Land between Battery and Generator, but it’s the danger that attracted Wentz, made him think I’d never go there. Honestly, I was considering leaving him out there for the Ghastlies to find, cuz who knows? Maybe Jamia would take pity on him and kill him quickly. I didn’t want to run into the Ghastlies with only Pretty Boy at my side. Hell, I didn’t want to run into the Ghastlies even if all my boys were here! Gen’s a bigger city, and therefore, has a bigger gang life. The Ghastlies are just the ones that rose to the top, which makes them ten times more imposing. I mean sure, our gang ALSO rose to the top and we’d managed to keep the Ghastlies out of Battery, but I still respected them. This would be the closest to their territory I’d ventured since… since I killed their leader, and they killed Billie Joe. So, maybe 3 years, and I would have liked to continue that streak, too, but fucking Wentz had to come out here and… Goddammit, I hated him. I growled low in my throat as I stalked the side alleys, giving my boys curt nods when I came across them and moving on in silence. They all knew the look of determination I wore wasn’t just for fun, it was because if I didn’t get Wentz back, someone was going to fucking pay. 

Pretty Boy followed me as I expected him to, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his holster as I swung deftly through alleys and into the Ritz. We had to cross through the Ritz to get to the spot I figured Wentz had gone, and I wasn’t all too excited about that, either. It’s not that the Ritz wasn’t my territory, it’s that it was too clean. We stuck out here, well, I did, and I didn’t like sticking out in a bad way. The Ritz kids had learned to fear me, too, every single child 8 and over knew the drill, and a spotty few of the others. We walked by one of the Ritz schools, where there was a girl of maybe 23 with a kinder kid on the playground together. I was kind of out of place, considering it was nearly dark and the lady should know better than to be outside, but that’s all well – I wasn’t out to scare kids. “Mommy, look!” The kid yelled, sounding delighted and running towards us, a huge, gleeful smile on his face. 

The mother looked up, her face blanching as she caught my eyes. “Frank!” She called, and my eyes snapped up, until I realized she was talking to the kid. “Honey, no, come back! We’ve got to go!”

The kid paid her no attention, and ran right over to us. “Hi, I’m Frank!” He said, grinning and offering me a grubby hand. “Why do you have guns?”

“Cuz I’m a bad man.” I smiled, taking his hand and shaking it with a smirk on my face. “I’m looking for someone, actually. Have you seen this guy?” I puled a ratty picture of Wentz out of my pocket and showed it to the little Frank.

His green eyes studied it for a minute before he brightened. “I saw him a few days ago! He glared at me, like this.” He demonstrated Wentz’s bitch face perfectly, and I laughed just as his mother finally caught up with him.

“Oh my goodness!” She seemed taken aback to come face-to-face with me of all people. “F… Fun Ghoul… I’m so sorry! Please, he didn’t mean any harm, don’t hurt my son!”

“I’m not gonna hurt your fucking son!” I looked at her, astonished. “What do you think I am, a monster? He’s what, 5 years old? God damn! The kid hasn’t even done anything! Have you, Frank?” He shook his head, and I looked back at his mom. “See? Good kid.”

“Mama, it’s okay, they only have guns because they’re bad men, or because they’re looking for a bad man, or something. It’s all alright.” He gave his mom what was supposed to be an assuring face, and I laughed, rumpling his hair.

“You’re a good kid, Frank.” I smiled at him, turning to leave. “Take care of your mama now, you hear me?” 

He nodded, his eyes huge as we walked away. “I will! Bye!” He yelled after us, hopping up and down and waving. Fuck, I forgot how annoying kids were. 

I walked in silence for a few blocks, but I could feel Pretty Boy’s eyes on my back the entire time, and it was killing me. Finally, somewhere around 20th and Vamp, I turned to him. “God DAMN, Pretty Boy, what is it?” I asked, hands on my hips.

“That kid…” He started. “You were nice to them.”

“AND?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “When am I not nice? I’m a perfectly fucking nice person.”

“But, he’s a kid.” 

“I really don’t know what you’re driving at.” I shook my head. “Besides, he’s just a little person. They know what smiles are, just like the rest of us. And anyways, kids know a hell of a lot. He saw Wentz yesterday.”

“But you KNOW where he was yesterday.” Pretty Boy looked confused. Holy fuck, the way his eyebrows arched when he was confused… That was almost as good as his hair. But I couldn’t think about that right now; Wentz was missing, and I was on a mission.

“I do, but now it’s confirmed. Anyways, the kid thinks he helped.” I shrugged, moving again. I put my com in, radioing once before we crossed the city lines. “Any signs, report to Toro, I’m going dead. Over and out, motherfuckers.” I pulled my com before we moved on, easily climbing the walls that surrounded the city. 

As soon as we hit the other side, everything was different. There was an even thicker air of desolation, and the sweltering heat of the desert hit in full force as I walked a badly marked trail. Really, it was little more than scuffed dust, but I knew it was here and, apparently, so did Pretty Boy. He didn’t even look surprised as we walked, he almost looked like he knew the territory, which, I supposed, was a good thing. He was, after all, an ex-Lost boy, and they liked to scavenge these parts, so I suppose he did know it pretty damn well. I was headed to an abandoned outpost that looked like it used to be a tollbooth in a place there hasn’t been a road in so long that nobody remembers it existing. The Killjoys called it the Ghastly Manor, the Ghastlies called it the Killjoy’s Nest, but neither of us claimed it or used it… Except Wentz. I’d found him here a few times, but it had been awhile and I’d almost forgotten about it, which made it perfect for him to come back to. As we walked up to it in the light of the rising moon, recognition dawned on Pretty Boy’s face and he cleared his throat. “The Killjoy’s – I mean, Ghastly Manor?” He asked, and I shushed him. His talking would give away my approach.

“I’m going in to find Wentz.” I whispered. “If you hear a fight or gunshots or a laser blast, run the fuck in with your blaster drawn. If not, stay out of my way.” He nodded, crouching down on the ground as I walked up to the cabin in full view. “Wentz?” I called, knocking once and opening the door. “Pete, it’s me, don’t fucking kill me or anything…”

Sure enough, he was in the corner of the room, lounging in a weatherworn overstuffed recliner, a bottle of booze in his lap and his eyes lulling dangerously close to sleep. He looked up when I entered, a drunk smile flashing over his face, his ultramarine hair wild and in his eyes. Fuck, what was I teaching the kid? He was 16 fucking years old, not old enough to be in enough shit to be drinking his problems away. “F… Frank.” He slurred, his eyelids threatening to close. “I had the craziest dream… You… You almost shot me. You wouldn’t do that, would you?” He laughed softly, lifting a sluggish arm to rub at his eyes. “You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, I wouldn’t.” I quietly promised him, and I knew it was at least half of the truth. I wouldn’t hurt him – Unless pushed to do so. “You need to come home, Wentz.”

“I can’t.” He laughed. “I can never go home!”

“Why not?” I asked him, rolling my eyes. Wentz was 50 shades of fucked up, that was for sure. “Why can’t you go home?”

“Cuz I can’t.” He nodded. “I’ve got to sleep now.”

I laughed. “Okay, buddy.” I said, almost letting myself smile as I sat in a chair next to him. “Then sleep.”

“That’s a good idea!” He said as he was starting to fade. He yawned, stretching his arms out and curling into that familiar Wentz-shaped ball. “I should… sleep…” 

And just like that, he was out. I laughed softly in the back of my throat. No matter how much I hated to admit it, Wentz was fucking adorable when he was asleep. I brushed his hair out of his eyes before I walked out to get Pretty Boy. “He fell asleep.” I shrugged. “And I’m not waking him up. He’s drunk off his ass, trust me, him asleep is better.”

Pretty Boy’s eyes widened, and he laughed. “How drunk?” He asked, a smile on his face.

“He’s got maybe three sips of a 40 left.” I shook my head. “He’s not good on booze – He gets a bit jumpy. We’re not waking up that trigger happy motherfucker.” That was part of the truth. The other part… Well, Wentz deserved sleep for once in his goddamn life. He was always up on perimeter, and he never complained, but I knew he wasn’t getting enough sleep, and I can’t have that. “I want you to do a very important job, okay?” Pretty Boy nodded, his hair turned blood red in the moon light. “There’s a car stashed in the sandstone shed maybe 1000 yards from here, and the keys are under the passenger seat. Go get it, and bring it back so we can get Wentz home.” 

He nodded, and was off. I went back inside, slowly extricating the bottle from Wentz’s grasp and swearing – Of course, Wentz hadn’t drank anything less than 40 proof whiskey. Of-fucking-course. He’d be in deep Hangover City tomorrow. Poor kid. I heard the rumble of a motor off in the distance as I looked around the shack. It was a veritable mess, but I could tell it was Wentz’s. There were little things everywhere that screamed “WENTZ!” such as a stash of Hershey’s bars, a stuffed pug, a used bottle of ultramarine hair dye, and a grimy Star Wars poster, beat up and hung listlessly on one wall. As the engine got closer, I sorted through the shit and pulled out a few things – Some of his chocolate, a coat he said he’d been looking for, a few extra blankets and a decent pillow, and then brought them out to the car. It was an old Impala, in less-than-perfect condition after I hid it in the desert for almost a year. I dumped it all in the backseat, the candy and the whiskey bottle on the floorboards as Pretty Boy hopped out. “And Wentz?” He asked.

“Asleep still. Don’t fucking touch him.” I said, throwing the pillow into the back bench seat and putting the blanket on the floorboard as I went back inside. “Alright, buddy…” I said, straining with the effort of picking Wentz up. He had to weigh close to 50 pounds more than me, so just being able to carry him out to the car was a feat for me. “In we go, fuckhead. Damn, you’re an idiot.” I cursed as I struggled not to hit his head on the car as I slid him into the seat. 

He stirred softly as I set his head down. “Frank?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah, bitch, I’m here.” I murmured, hopefully quiet enough that Pretty Boy couldn’t hear me. “Now go back to sleep. Everything’s alright.”

“Mmkay.” He replied, snuggling up to the pillow as I pulled the blanket over him and backed out of the car.

“You really care about him, huh?” Pretty Boy asked from his spot by the trunk.

“I care about all my boys.” I said, glad it was dark enough to hide the blush that threatened to climb up my neck. “Wentz, he was my first real responsibility, so yeah, I care about ‘im.”

Pretty Boy nodded. “Cute.” He said, and I bristled at the fucking girly name, but slid into the driver’s seat anyways.

On the drive home, I don’t think Wentz moved more than a half an inch. He was out like a light – I honestly doubted he’d wake up before 10:00 in the morning tomorrow. As soon as we started driving, I put my com back in, pressing the talk button as I crossed city limits with a glare to the officers at the gate. “Boys, he’s found.” I spoke, a smile in my voice. “Asleep and drunker than shit, but still alive. Back to the warehouse, or go home, actually. You all deserve a good night’s rest. Home, all of you. Over.” 

“Homeward bound.” Toro confirmed. “Glad he’s alright. Over and out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! I haven't updated in what seems like a million years! *Hides behind Frank* Don't kill me!  
> Frank: I don't care, kill her.  
> Me: Not nice.


End file.
